His Wicked Smile

by Heather Hiestand

  “The fence is on the second floor of a building on Earlham Street,” Lord Judah said.

  The back of Gawain’s neck prickled, as if they were being watched. The carriage pulled into a narrow cobbled street lined with multi-story brick buildings. When the men descended, the driver called to the horses and set off at a quick clip.

  “Doesn’t want to stay around to meet the Ripper,” Lord Judah joked.

  “He’s long gone. Hasn’t murdered in months,” Gawain said, glancing up the building.

  Lord Judah pointed through the gloom. Sunlight scarcely touched the ground floors of the buildings. “I think that is a door.”

  “Lead on.” Gawain tapped his cane on a stone and stepped over a fetid stream of rainwater at the edge of the street.

  Lord Judah opened the door and disappeared inside. Gawain, senses alert, caught the door and followed behind. They went up a staircase, the air darkening with every step. The corridor beyond was deserted, though he could hear noises behind the doors, a couple arguing, a baby crying, an old man’s voice calling out in fear, then the babble of multiple male voices in a foreign tongue behind one door at the end of the hall. Smoke curled under the door and hung in the corridor, adding to the sense of fog even inside the building.

  “I find it hard to believe that the kind of person who could afford to buy such a necklace would come here,” Gawain said.

  Lord Judah rapped on the door. “Met them in a pub, I would imagine.”

  The sound of voices didn’t cease. Smoke curled over Lord Judah’s half-boots, as if enticing him in. A couple of minutes later, the door opened a crack. Gawain saw a flare of light behind the door, though more smoke dribbled out. A man’s shape was mostly shielded by the wood.

  Lord Judah pulled a paper from his pocket, a sketch of the stolen necklace from Fern, and thrust it at the man at the door. The man took it, and coughed, phlegm rattling in his chest.

  “Never get enuf o’ this kind o’ merchandise,” he rasped. “You got it wif ya?”

  “We aren’t selling it,” Lord Judah said. “We want to know who you bought it from.”

  The man shook his head. “Ain’t got it now.”

  “I know. You sold it to Lord Mews eighteen months ago. Who did you buy it from?” Lord Judah demanded.

  The man rubbed his nose and coughed again. With a sigh, Lord Judah pulled a banknote from his pocket and passed it over. The man snatched it and slammed the door shut. Gawain leaned against the wall, then stood when he felt the damp plaster denting from his body weight.

  Inside, he could hear voices crescendoing, followed by a wave of coughs. He was about to ask his friend if he thought the door would reopen, but just then it did. This time, the man at the door was a wizened specimen with a long beard and a black skullcap covering his bald pate.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, in a surprisingly cultured tone. “Why are you asking for such confidential information? I’m sure I can find you a similar piece.”

  “Taken off a dead man, just like the first necklace?” Gawain asked.

  The man put up his hands, palm-first. The gesture only took his arms up to the height of Gawain’s thighs.

  “Taken off a dead man?” the fence asked.

  “He was murdered for that necklace.”

  The man scratched his nose. “I don’t know anything about that. I bought it from a receiver who works out of Leeds.”

  “A receiver?” Lord Judah asked. “So he wasn’t the original thief then.”

  “No, my lord, no.” The man smiled, showing spikey, yellowed teeth. “I wouldn’t do business with a thief.”

  Gawain snorted. “What is the receiver’s name?”

  The man sniffed and called over his shoulder. “Bartholomew? Come here.” He turned back to them. “You are in luck, gentlemen. My friend happens to be visiting London.”

  A minute later, another ancient man, a couple inches taller than the first, joined his friend at the crack in the door, still holding his pipe. “What ye want?”

  “These gentlemen want to know who sold you that royal necklace. You know the one. Royal House of Caliata?”

  Gawain hadn’t realized the necklace was part of the crown jewels of a royal house. He wondered if Ann had realized what she was sacrificing to her late husband’s desire to own two inns.

  The man puffed on his pipe, sending more smoke to paint the already yellowed walls. “Only saw him the one time.”

  “Memorable piece,” Lord Judah commented. “I’m in gems myself.”

  “Were,” the first man giggled. “I know who you are, Lord Judah Shield. None of your Indian merchandise has come my way yet, but it will. Always does.”

  “Makes me glad I deal in comestibles,” Gawain muttered.

  The second man puffed his pipe for a couple of minutes more, his crêpey wattle jiggling with each inhalation. “What if this man has more merchandise to bring me?”

  “He doesn’t,” Gawain said boldly. “He’s a murderer. One crime, one necklace. If he hasn’t brought you anything since, he’s unlikely to now.”

  The man coughed, then spat. Lord Judah held his ground, even though the yellow mucus nearly hit his half-boot.

  “Don’t know his name, never did,” the man finally said.

  Gawain took out a small notebook, wishing he could have brought Fern along. “Then describe him. Tall, short, thin, fat? Young or old?”

  “Tall, thin, young. Arrogant.”

  Gawain drew a male shape, though his skills didn’t lend to much past stick figures. “Clothing?”

  “Eh, don’t remember.”

  “I mean, was he dressed like a laborer, a gentleman?”

  “Oh, somewhere in between, I suppose.”

  “Eyes? Anything unusual about them? How did he smell?”

  The man chuckled. “The only thing I really remember was his hair.” He patted his head. “Since I don’t have much left of my own.”

  “Yes?”

  “Goyische hair. Yellow, straight. Looked like a haystack on top of a grasshopper.”

  Gawain tucked his notebook back into his coat. Lord Judah glanced at him, and he nodded. He knew who killed Wells Haldene. The rotten little bastard.

  Lord Judah took another bill from his pocket and passed it to the fence. The man took it, shrugging.

  “I’m sorry your friend was murdered.”

  Lord Judah thrust his hand back into his coat. “He wasn’t my friend.”

  The man’s gaze moved to Gawain, who stared back, unwilling to offer any information that these men might sell. “Some lovely merchandise in the front room, if you’re interested. Some loose stones too, if you want to get back into the trade, Lord Judah.”

  Lord Judah shook his head. “No. I’m done with gems.”

  The two men stepped back and shut the door without further conversation. Of one mind, Gawain and Lord Judah moved rapidly down the corridor and down the stairs.

  “I’m somewhat surprised they gave us the information,” Gawain said when they reached the front door.

  “I don’t imagine they would have if they had any hope of repeat business. I don’t suppose the murderer appeared to be the sort to offer any more goods.”

  “And he hasn’t been back since. I wonder if he’s looked for more jewelry, if Ann realizes how vulnerable she has been. Also, I wonder what he did with the money? He’s still where he was at the time of the murder, doing the same thing. How could it have benefited him?”

  When they reached the street, Lord Judah asked, “Who was the killer?”

  “His cousin,” Gawain spat. “The family charity case.”

  “The one who didn’t come to London for the wedding?”

  “Exactly. Probably wanted the time to search the inn for more gems while Harry was here.”

  Lord Judah swore under his breath. “We’re probably in for a walk. No hansoms at Seven Dials.”

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” Gawain said, though they could only see a couple of inches ahead of them through
the ever-moving yellow fog. He could sense men huddled in front of nearby buildings.

  “Yes. What are you going to do now?”

  “Go home, tell Ann. See what she wants me to do.”

  “Sadly, I don’t see how this will help the police. You aren’t going to get a fence to finger the cousin.”

  “Maybe they can get him to confess, now that we know the truth.”

  “Must be a desperate lad, to do it. I’m thinking he must have had gambling debts, or some such, if he’s never left the inn.”

  “Or he’s waiting for another opportunity before leaving. More jewelry?”

  “No, not for all this time. We’re talking what, three years now? The money is long gone, and presumably he hasn’t had a reason to need more since.”

  “Or he simply killed Wells in a fight, then took the necklace when he spotted it by chance, and sold it, but feels too guilty to spend the money.”

  Lord Judah pointed down a murky street. “Does it matter? Let’s go this way. We aren’t too far from Covent Garden and we can find a hansom there.”

  They chatted over possibilities until they found cabs, then separated so Gawain could return to Battersea. When he reached home, he found the place oddly deserted. Chase didn’t answer the door and he had to use his key. He took off his coat and went upstairs to the nursery.

  Inside, Jenna was sitting in the rocker, her eyes red, a handkerchief crushed between her hands.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did Noel get sick again?” Where was his son? Why wasn’t the fire lit?

  She shook her head. “I’ve been sacked.”

  His frantic glance around the room returned to the nursery maid. “I’m the master here. You haven’t lost your position.”

  “Mrs. Redcake said I wasn’t to go with them.”

  The chill invaded his bones. “With them? What do you mean?”

  “She went to Leeds. She took Fern. I offered to go, but she said no, that I could go back to Lady Hatbrook if she’d have me. She was in too much of a hurry to write me a reference. What will Lady Hatbrook think of me?” the girl sniffed.

  “Why did Mrs. Redcake go to Leeds?” Gawain growled.

  “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me, but they left about four hours ago.”

  Gawain left the room, calling for Chase, who also acted as his valet when one was needed. He was digging through his dressing room when the man appeared. “You need to pack for me. I must leave immediately.”

  “You’ll be following Mrs. Redcake, sir?”

  “Exactly. When you’re finished here, please have someone tell Jenna she isn’t sacked. I’ll write from Leeds when I have a clue as to what’s going on.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, but send word around to Lewis. Have him let me know if any Haldenes are seen in the area. He’d recognize both of them.”

  “We’ve had Mr. Harry Haldene here, sir. Am I to understand he is persona non grata?”

  “No, he’s fine. It’s the other one. Jeremy. Yellow hair like straw. You see him, call the police.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gawain stared at the shirt in his hand. “Did anyone come to see my wife?”

  “Just that ayah again, but we turned her away as you instructed.”

  Gawain felt a pang of guilt at that. He had been guilty of rash behavior in relation to both his wife and Fern recently. Why had he expected a wife would fold herself neatly into his life and chosen lifestyle, instead of bringing her own occupations, interests and relatives into his household? He’d been a fool. He hadn’t married a child. They needed to have a frank discussion about their life.

  “Thank you, Chase. I’ll be in my study consulting the train timetable. Please bring down my bag . . . oh, and check with Jenna to make sure my wife packed sufficiently for Noel.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gawain was not lucky with the trains and it was morning before he pulled into Leeds. He told himself not to worry, that Jeremy and Ann both had no idea that he knew the truth about Wells’s death. Still, his palms were clammy beneath his gloves all night long and he scarcely slept. His hip nearly folded beneath his weight when he stepped onto the platform and he had to rely on his cane to get him into a hansom. His journey was no improvement over that night in the horseless carriage nearly a year before.

  Fifteen minutes later he was stumbling out of the hansom in the muddy yard at The Old Hart. It looked much the same as ever when he walked inside. The pub room was full, but the air smelled of English breakfast, not a spicy Indian one. He was glad Ann hadn’t capped off fleeing their marriage by immediately returning to her position here as cook.

  As he glanced around the front hall, he realized he didn’t know where the family rooms were. All of the inn’s rooms were up the stairs on the first floor and to the side of the staircase was a blank wall. Were the family quarters on the other side? He glanced around until he found a door behind the staircase and tried to open it, but it was locked. He pounded on the door and waited.

  After a couple of minutes, he had just about decided to go up the stairs and see if his family had moved into a rented room, when the door opened. Harry stood in the doorway, his black hair hanging over his forehead.

  “Redcake,” he said in a flat tone that matched the dark circles under his eyes.

  “You look like you’ve been up all night.”

  “It’s your fault.” Harry yawned hugely. “Ann has been hysterical, Fern has been hysterical. The baby kept wakin’ up every couple of hours. You couldn’t pay me to marry and have a passel of brats of me own.”

  “And here I decided you had a heart. I guess I was wrong.” Just when Gawain had decided he’d best not trust Harry Haldene, the man gave him a sympathetic grin.

  He glanced at the cane. “Hip botherin’ you again?”

  “I was up all night on the train. Too much time to think, and not about anything pleasant,” Gawain admitted.

  Harry snorted. “Could have sent a letter. It might have done you as much good.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning nothing. You took a girl with the biggest heart in the world and snapped it between your fingers.” Harry pointed his finger at Gawain. “What did you have to do that for? Don’t you know she just has to help people? You can’t lock her in your house and refuse to let her talk to anyone. That’s sick. I thought you knew better, bein’ interested in the same kind of Indian business she is.”

  “I made mistakes, Harry. I know that. I need to see her.” At least he now knew heartbreak had sent Ann fleeing, not mortal danger.

  Harry’s heavy fist knocked the lintel above his head. “No, you don’t. She just got here last night. Everyone is exhausted. She said Fern and Noel had just been sick. Go away for a week or two.”

  “I can’t,” Gawain said. “Listen to me carefully, man. She isn’t safe here.”

  Harry’s eyes closed into squints. “What d’you mean?”

  Gawain glanced behind him. The front hall remained empty. He lowered his voice. “I know who killed Wells.”

  Harry’s thick black brows rose. “You do?”

  He leaned in so close that he could smell coffee on Harry’s breath. “A friend of mine traced the necklace. Found who bought it, who sold it, and who originally brought it to a fence here in Leeds.”

  Harry’s mouth dropped open. “It weren’t no stranger? Why else would you say she’s in danger?”

  “Exactly.” Gawain stepped even closer and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Harry, but your cousin Jeremy sold the necklace.”

  “No,” Harry said. “You’re wrong.”

  “I’ll go through it all again, but we need to get Ann away from here, bring in the authorities. It’s their job to straighten it out. All I care about is my wife. You can see she can’t stay at the inn, don’t you?” Gawain released Harry and stepped back, stumbling until he caught himself with his cane. He had to make Harry understand he wasn’t simpl
y engaged in a power struggle with Ann, but was worried about her very life.

  Ann crept closer, straining to hear. She’d recognized Gawain’s voice at the door, felt a momentary thrill that he’d come right after her. But instead of offering protests of love and devotion to Harry, he’d started right into talk about Wells. She stepped through the room, silent on bare feet, still in her nightdress and wrapper. But Gawain lowered his voice when he revealed the murderer and she had no idea what he’d said.

  She stepped closer, just as Harry’s vocal chords expelled one loud word.

  “Jeremy?”

  She jumped and fled back a few steps. Jeremy? The orphaned cousin they’d taken in at fourteen had killed her husband? That couldn’t be possible. While he hadn’t shown any emotion during those terrible first couple of months after Wells’s death, he never showed emotion anyway. And he never spent money. She’d had no reason to think he had any beyond the small salary they paid him in addition to room and board.

  But Gawain kept speaking, talking about the chain of people who’d sold her mother’s necklace and how he’d identified Jeremy. She had to admit it sounded damning. How could he? Jeremy had been like a younger brother to her. She’d nurtured him, even tried to teach him how to read. She put her hand to her forehead. Too many late nights, recently. She couldn’t think straight.

  No, this was some gross error. Gawain was wrong. She’d never even seen Jeremy kill a spider, much less behave violently toward another human being.

  After thrusting her feet into an old pair of boots, she ran out the back door and went to the storage building where they kept supplies. Jeremy was often out there, taking inventory or feeding the chickens that were kept in a nearby coop.

  She folded her arms around her chest as the misty rain hit her in the yard. Her boots squelched in mud puddles and she nearly lost one because they were too large without thick stockings. Jeremy didn’t appear to be around the chickens so she went into the storage building.

  Inside, sun filtered in through chunks in the rough walls. Wells had meant to pull the old building down and rebuild, but Harry hadn’t made it a priority. Ann blinked until her eyes adjusted to the light.